Burn to Ashes
by beanaroony
Summary: This is what the blood of betrayal tastes like, when its claws dig into your chest and tear at your throat and you palate nothing but sorrow and distrust again and again, again and again. S3 finale AU.
1. This World Isn't Yours

It's hot, and her feet feel heavy, like the flames from the comet above are weighing her down the way fire shouldn't. But Zuko seems more alive with the comet's influence.

There's a lightness in his step that wasn't there before, and even the motions of his firebending mastery are smoother, calmer, lighter. She wants to be happy for him, he needs this boost in confidence for the impending battle ahead, because he can't hurt his sister without confidence, and she can see that in the tilt of his brow and the tightness of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes. But she can't shake the uneasiness that broadens and engulfs her being when she sits near him.

He grows quieter and quieter the nearer they get to the capital's coast. Katara can't get a word out of him when they see the palace.

She's nervous, she has been, they _all_ have been including Zuko, but seeing his shoulders tense, his back stiffen as if touching him would shatter his spine...catching him glance over at her with a strange, undefinable emotion in his gaze has her shuddering in fear. She can't be afraid, she _can't_, but her partner in this war – her comrade, a descriptor she'd have never used before he showed his true colors and cared for her as a friend would – makes her doubt everything they'd ever worked towards.

Appa lets out a low growl as if echoing her sentiments. Katara idly pats his head in acknowledgment. Zuko doesn't react, facing forward. His prior efforts at calming even her are lost under their mutual wave of discomfort.

She wants to hold his hand, but she holds her own to protect herself. From what, she's not even sure.

…

His expression blanks as Azula's coronation party comes into view. Maybe they're in time, maybe they're too late. Neither of them knows until Appa sets foot in the courtyard and Zuko's gone. She doesn't even get a chance to grasp his sleeve and stop him if only for a moment, and she's not sure why she wants him to stop but the roiling in her belly tells her to hold him back so she can say something, _anything_.

Sokka used to remind her again and again how important instinct is to him, how important it should be to everyone. Maybe this is her instinct talking. Katara has a habit of ignoring Sokka's advice.

She should have seen it coming when Zuko chose to fight Azula alone.

She should have seen in it in the way he looked at her.

…

Zuko turns his stance on her, away from his sister who laughs behind him with a crown in her hair. This isn't part of the plan, none of this is.

He makes to say something, but she won't hear it. The waterskin at her side is popped open before he can utter a single word because _she won't hear it_. Katara swings forward with a slice of water from her side and curses when he dodges it skillfully.

This is why he trained with her, isn't it? To learn her every attack, her every step and her every breath.

There's no time for this betrayal to hurt.

He rolls, he kicks, and a flame of a size she could never have anticipated shoots her way. She gasps, stares, runs just in time and imagines that Zuko begs her to dodge it.

Sozin's comet is a cruel entity, a creature birthed of a god who blesses his people while Katara's own spirits slumber. She is no match against two masters, one swathed in red and the other in blue that is an element deceiving her own.

If there is any remorse in his eyes, she does not see it. She doesn't have time to nor does she get any closer than the width of the wall of flames he's built around her. Her water is scarce, she's used it all and she can't believe it - she can sense more from somewhere else, somewhere hidden but she can't _see_ a source. It's hot, too hot, and she considers using her sweat but that's just desperation talking that she can't come to terms with.

She's losing, _spirits_, she's losing and she can't – she can't find a way out, she's lost everything, she's lost the world to _this_ -

When he finally approaches her, his pale skin is doused in oranges and reds, like a demon arisen from the depths of the Spirit World.

He was always a monster, she tried to tell everyone. But even monsters can steal hearts.

…

"_I should never have trusted you!"_

That's what she wants to say, what she would say if she wasn't trapped in a cage of arms stronger than her own. A searing pain shoots down the side of her waist, effectively muting her. She continues to thrash weakly but her energy is wasted on a futile fight. She only bruises more under harsh muscle, feels the trickle of what she thinks might be blood along the length of her thigh.

Katara lost this battle the moment Zuko's kindness penetrated her fortified, icy walls. He deserves everything she threw at him, this coward. What he wouldn't do for his family, his spirits-damned _honor_ – she should have _known_.

This wasn't the first time, and if she somehow made it out of this mess, it wouldn't be the last.

She feels her vision cloud over – no, she has to stay awake, she has to fight back, she has to – and her legs buckle beneath her. But Zuko, reliable Zuko holds her up. She can only tell because she knows what it feels to be held in his arms and the memory is revolting, so miserable and unwanted.

"You lied, " she whispers hoarsely, or at least she tries. That's all her throat will allow her to say, and it isn't enough, not for her satisfaction. Nothing she ever says will be enough. Yet Katara thinks that the wall of flesh against her back stiffens.

It's not enough, she thinks again and again.

Everything goes black.


	2. Black Is Better

Author's Note: One of the major questions that I've gotten is, "What are Zuko's motives?" My answer to that is – if you know Zuko's character, if you understand the major conflict he continues to face again and again throughout the entire series, then that's all it takes.

And I should also point out that the entirety of this piece is told through Katara's POV, whatever that may mean to you.

Thanks for the lovely reviews, everyone! I'm really looking forward to ruining your lives with this fic, haha. Oops.

* * *

She's surrounded by hazy reds and blacks, or so her muddled mind is telling her. She can't really think beyond the throbbing behind her eyes or the ache in her side, and her legs and arms are dull weights over smooth softness she doesn't recognize.

Her eyes may be open, but she may also be dreaming. The confusion is frustrating, makes the pain beat harder against the inside of her skull. She wonders, and that curiosity is the part of her nature she hates.

And so everything comes back to her in a wave of memories she never wanted.

Foolish Katara, deluded again by gentle smiles and seemingly selfless deeds. What is selfless about studying the enemy? That's all he ever did.

Zuko. He lied, he always lied to her and everyone he ever met. She could never forgive him again, and why should she? He chose his warped sense of honor, or perhaps he always knew that following in the glory of his heritage, his ancestry, his family's evil past and every sin they'd ever committed against the world was the proper path for a heartless liar.

Her body betrays her and she sobs quietly, but no tears come to soothe the suffocating heat of her skin. She hates the heat, she hates it because it ruins everything it ever touches, including herself. She's ruined, wrapped in a bed of thorns disguised as what she assumes are silks, in a place she was supposed to conquer but never did.

The world is ruined because of her foolishness.

Katara bites her tongue when she hears the sound of a heavy door shutting behind shifting whispers of fabrics. She remembers what happened, and she remembers why she is here. But she doesn't know where here is, she can't see well enough past dry, caked eyes and misty darkness to figure it out on her own, and she assumes whoever is hovering somewhere near her will tell her eventually now that she's awake.

A cool, wet cloth spreads over her forehead, the corners of it wipe at her eyes, and she wants to snarl because she won't thank this offender, this ruthless person who won't let her _die_ in her shame. Her rejection pours out in weak groans instead, but it does enough to force the stranger away from her side.

She won't thank Fire Nation scum anymore.

The dark figure shuffles from the room without a word, Katara doesn't hear what she wants or maybe doesn't want to know, and the tears finally form a path down her cheeks.

…

She wakes again to the same darkness, but her hair stands on end and her flesh tingles familiarly.

Someone is seated beside her, quiet, unmoving. The wet cloth is cool again, and her breathing comes easier somehow. She tries to lift her leg and cries out unintentionally when pain forces the weak limb back down. It's only then that she notices through mind-numbing soreness that something cold and rigid, something like braced metal, is wrapped around her ankle.

Of course, she's a prisoner here. Even a bed bathed in silks could do nothing to hide that.

"Are you okay?"

She jumps a bit, forgetting just for a second about the stranger in the room, her mind so steeped in confusion and anger. But the truth is no longer so heavily clouded in mystery. The words are brief but the voice is unmistakable in its deep rasp, as if his throat had been charred with the very smoke and fire he breathes, like the dragons she'd only heard about from Aang. She can't forget a voice like that as much as she wants to

Spirits, she _can't_.

Katara turns towards the husked sounds abruptly, fails to remember the previous jolt of pain in her side and the restraints around her ankles and her wrists and screams hoarsely at him. She has words in mind to portray her hatred but they only pour out as furious shrieks until all that's left are shallow croaks that no longer resemble her voice.

Of course she's not okay! How can she – how can she be _okay_?!

Physical agony is forgotten, replaced by torment of mind and heart. Her only regret is that she can't see his face in its entirety. She wants more than anything to see him cringe, to see his eyes pool over in regret.

The only thing that barely tides her wrath over is the slight, hardly noticeable flinch of his hands on his lap.

And she refuses to let her eyes leak tears for him so she sneers in his direction and rattles the chains that bind her instead, ignoring the twinge in her side. Zuko had considered her people barbaric once, and she wouldn't be surprised if he still thought of her in that way, not anymore. So she would show him barbaric until he couldn't stand it.

"Get _away_ from me," she snarls as if her own breath could turn to fire and burn whatever image of the boy sitting by her plagues her mind.

"You might tear the bandages if you keep doing that," he has the audacity to say with a soft, broken voice, as if he actually _cares_.

Katara rolls onto her back and winces as if his feigned concern reminds her of the deep burn on her hip. The memory of it all flickers in her mind in bits and pieces again, how she tried to dive out of his grip only to fall to the ground in a pained heap because someone chose to incapacitate her. Easier to control a prisoner through pain.

"Good," she spits out, grimacing with the effort, "I'd rather let infection put me out of my misery than – than to have to deal with any of you."

He remains silent, as if her words are doing nothing to provoke him, but she can't have that. If Katara knows any single truth about Zuko, it's that he's passionate and easily angered. Maybe, if she's lucky, he'll kill her in his fury.

(Her family would be so ashamed of the weak thoughts flitting through her head, or maybe they'd be frustratingly concerned even though none of that matters now that they're all probably gone.)

"I was right about you," she continues, "you're filthy and selfish, so why not burn me alive and get me out of your way?"

"I didn't want to hurt you! Azula burned you against my wishes and -"

"Oh, how _honorable_ of you."

That does the trick. Zuko's standing over her now, his hands in shuddering fists at his sides and she tries to glare at him in defiance through how weak she actually feels. His expression is clearer now, but what strikes her most is the furious gold of his eyes peaking through the darkness.

She is ashamed to remember she was once mesmerized by those eyes, how she believed once that they held truth in them. But either he is a more skilled liar than he initially let on or she and her friends are more naïve than any worldly saviors should be, and that is their ultimate downfall.

Katara wants to cry bitter tears but not in front of him.

"I hope you're happy, Zuko." His name is a poisonous curse on her tongue and he knows it, the way he tenses next to her. "You'll be prince of the world now, and your loving father will shower you in praise. He will, won't he?"

He visibly hesitates before husking out in that accursed voice of his, "Aang might come back -"

"Stop it," she yelps, yanking at the shackles around her wrists. "Don't you dare mention his name like he actually matters! He disappeared because you pressured him too much, it was all a part of your plan!"

"No it _wasn't_, Katara -"

"Get out! Get out of here, I don't want to see you!" She's shrieking again now, writhing in her bed and kicking through the pain and reaching for him as if she could strangle him without the restraints stopping her.

He hesitates again before turning to leave, and her hollow screams turn to shaking sobs that she will hate herself for later, but it doesn't matter right now.

She wishes he never knew her name.

…

Zuko doesn't come back for days, she thinks. There is no light in the room to tell her when the sun comes up or when it sets. Only the moon cries out to her but she cannot call back, her body too weak to bother and her mind too faded to recognize its sorrow.

Servants come in to clean her burns, and a healer sits by her through the fever that ravages her corpse-like body, but he never comes. She doesn't understand why he even bothers to send these useless people to her like she knows he does.

She'd rather let the fever take her away from this place.

…

She's awake this time, sitting up in bed and pinching the edges of her bandages between steady fingers, but his visit still comes as a surprise to her. It must have been a week or more since the last time he decided to stop by and check on her, she can't be sure, but it's a seemingly generous act for a cruel man all the same. Katara wonders why she even tries to count the days.

"Why are you keeping me here?" She hasn't spoken in just as long, so her voice trickles out hoarsely. Water can't soothe the dryness in her throat, and she doesn't want it to because pain means awareness and comfort is a happiness she can no longer endure. The curt tone underlying her words doesn't seem to deter him. She doesn't acknowledge him in any other way, the tips of her fingers still gripping and tugging at the bandages near her hip. "I'm no good to anyone like this."

"I convinced Azula to let you stay in this room." She hears the shuffle of cloth and the clinking of armor as he sits down beside her bed. He is no longer as hesitant as he was before, his voice clearer but still gentle in the quiet of the wide room.

It irks her, makes her uneasy that he can be so calm in a situation like this. Katara had hoped and prayed to Spirits that likely didn't hear her at all that he'd show his true colors, that he would finally lose his selfish hold on his self-control and _hurt_ _her_. But he doesn't, not yet.

She finally turns to him, grips the sheets in unrelenting fists and shoots a venomous glare at his face.

"Why?"

Katara waits. She waits and she waits until her nails dig clean furrows into her palms and she tastes blood between her pinching teeth. His eyes don't find hers, his hesitation and silence unnerving more than anything. It makes her think endearing thoughts and that is horrible, revolting, impossible.

She can't take this side of him, this bizarre lack of passion, this undertone of sadness and regret that is so uncharacteristic in their roles as prisoner and warden, so she loses sweet control again.

(It's a cruel cycle.)

"Let me go for La's sake, just -" Her eyes dart around like the caged animal she is, her expression almost pleading desperation. This isn't fair, weakness isn't what she wants to show in front of him but she can't take this much longer and she knows it. She leans back, pulls the sheets with her and over her feet. "At least tell me if my brother's alive."

She doesn't like that Zuko continues to hesitate so much, conveying brittle emotion he has no luxury to share as far as she's concerned. She doesn't like it when she's wrong.

"They brought down the fleet of airships, but," Zuko pauses, leaning forward and reaching for her hand. Katara inches back and kicks his hand away. He has the nerve to look dejected before his expression turns to steel. "No one was found near there except for Aa – the Avatar. He's in our custody now."

Katara turns paler than she was before, she can feel the blood draining from her face and her head and dizziness starts to overcome her.

She never should have hoped. That hope ruined her and everyone and everything.

"No, _no_! You did this, this is all your fault!" She's on her hands and knees now, the chains binding her to the bed but loosely enough that she can move in place, cursing Zuko's life and his family and the entire Fire Nation with her wide eyes and bared teeth. She doesn't feel the burn anymore, not beneath the hollow rage that's settled into her belly and her throat.

"My father was victorious, I had little to do with that." He's not looking at her as he says this, but she only barely notices. He doesn't mention his sister, how she probably aided her father just in time, and how she was only able to because of his betrayal towards her. These are all assumptions, bare assumptions but she is so furious that she cannot bring herself to ask.

Katara wants to kill him before she dies here. She wants to close his throat and suffocate him.

She can feel her own blood boiling.

"Shut up! My brother trusted you, they all trusted you and – and considered you their friend and you -"

"Fuck, this isn't easy for me either!" He's standing over the bed again, and he's close enough that she can smell sulfur on his breath. He may be furious, but she is now the essence of fire, and she will _burn_ him again and again.

"You – you _monster_. This is what you wanted all along, isn't it? I tried to make you miserable and then – and then you tricked me into trusting you again so you could trap me – all of us in your - your clutches."

"I won't deny that what I did was wrong, but that isn't all true." It almost sounds like he's pleading through all that rage, she can see it in his eyes if she looks long enough, but she can't focus on them because they weaken her and she can reveal no more weakness.

If she does, she'll give in to his spell like she did before and feel things she never wanted to even for a moment. Katara doesn't even understand why he's trying.

She doesn't understand why his palm is now cupping her cheek and it alarms her, but she is frozen in place. Her mind is telling her to wrench herself away, to show her true barbarism and bite him, to tear his fingers from his hand because she never wants to feel his touch again.

But her chest hurts and she can hardly breathe without panting cool puffs of air into the space between them.

"Keep lying to me, _Prince_ Zuko. I can see through all of it now, every single lie you say." Katara doesn't miss how quietly she's speaking, how curiously his eyes are tracking her lips as they accuse him again and again of wronging her. The thoughts that race through her mind are sick ideas, and they form a lump in her throat that she can't quite swallow past.

Even a Fire Nation prince is a man.

"Tell me, is Azula going to _let_ me be your slave? Am I here to warm your bed?" She narrows her eyes and runs a hand along the surface of the bed before grasping the fingers resting gently on her cheek and dragging them down her neck. Her shoulders shudder in disgust. "Tell me Zuko, is this supposed to be a _head start_?"

"That's enough!" Katara glares even as he yanks his hand away and tucks it behind him. "You're here to recover, and then...I'll figure something out from there. It's late, go to sleep."

Zuko straightens his back and curves his brow as if nothing happened, though she's certain that he's more than shaken. She watches him walk out to be sure before lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

It doesn't seem like a victory at all.

…

She awakens to a hand holding hers, the coarseness of its palm digging in but not uncomfortably.

She knows but doesn't stir. There's no energy in her right now to waste on fighting or on wondering why he's even there, at least not right now.

Sleep consumes her again but frustration clouds her dreams.


	3. Tremor

**Author's Note:** Ah, you all are so lovely, so so lovely. I'm so excited about the responses I've been getting, haha. Writing isn't as easy as drawing is for me, but I'm certainly trying, and my complicated thought process can easily get in the way so I'm constantly battling that. So thank you so much for the support!

The reviews for this story amuse me (oops), and I'm sorry for the pain and confusion it's causing, but sadly for you, I like to make people think about what they're reading and human psychology fascinates me, and...well, I can't say it's going to get any easier. Katara is confused, and in case you haven't noticed, I like to follow a character's POV entirely, including stream of thought. So it'll be a whirlwind of repetition, a roller coaster of decisions and thought processes. She's a young girl with far too much on her plate for, I think, anyone her age to handle. Emotions can be confusing to anyone, they can be mixed up and switched around and lost in translation, but for a teenager...well, you know. With that in mind, Zutara will happen. It will. Ahah. Hah.

I'll stop rambling now and let y'all think it through for yourselves (and hopefully the story will pick up a bit more after this.)

* * *

She is stripped naked by the enemy's servants and led into a basin of water, finally, after a seeming eternity of rolling around in her own filth. Perhaps word of her growing listlessness (or maybe the unbearable stench of infection to those who don't have to live in it) made its way to the only one who seems to bother with her existence.

Katara can't even bring herself to be grateful to him, for this act of "kindness" towards a prisoner of war, because that is what she is now and forever will be and it's entirely his fault. It takes some time to come to terms with, but she is learning and will always remember.

If he thinks that this is kindness, then he is truly stupid. Letting a waterbender near water even when incapacitated is foolish, a risk not worth taking. She won't act on any impulse, not yet, but perhaps if Prince Zuko were to stand before her just then, she'd strangle him with a jagged rope made of ice.

The bath is cold, but she considers herself immune to it. There is no pain, no prickling of her toes or fingertips though she would likely invite it. Physical pain is better than emotional though she'd rather feel nothing at all. At least the water brings her more peace than a stationary bed ever could, her element washing away bits of grime and little bits of the overwhelming hopelessness that claws at her barren chest.

Every time it turns to ice, the servants whisper in fearful hisses.

Their reluctance to touch her is welcome, Katara doesn't want their help. Yet her wrists are bound and sore even in the water, as if they actually think she wants to fight back. Where would such rashness get her, anyway? She isn't stupid enough to think that she could save Aang on her own in palace a full of enemies. Soldiers would come running, and Zu – the awful prince would be the first to know, maybe even his awfuller sister.

(She remembers that horrid laughter that followed after her even in the darkness of unconsciousness, the nightmares that still haunt her almost sleepless nights and the memories of searing, torturous pain.)

The thought chills her to the bone more than any ice could and the wound coursing along her hip glows raw and pink even submerged in frigid waters.

Fear is not what chains her to this place, however. She'll never fear anyone in this palace, no, never again. Even the princess holds no power over Katara's emotions, she is convinced of this.

She is convinced that she can wring their necks if given the opportunity.

Her palms skim the floor of the tub between her splayed thighs and she blinks drops of water from her lashes. The water glows bright if only for a second before it dims back into greyness splashed with a hint of brown. If she heals herself where the restraints dig into her skin and where she has been maimed by the elemental bane of her existence, her flesh will be pure again.

But maybe that's not what she wants, and maybe she doesn't know what she wants but purity isn't it. A part of her wants revenge, while another contemplates, ponders, weighs the possibilities. She has time now to wonder, all the time in the world it seems, and it doesn't even matter that ignorant eyes peer at her and vulnerable fingers comb through her tangled mop of hair.

Katara thinks back to a familiar scar, a scar entirely not her own, how it weakened her resolve the first time she came in contact with it, how the memory of it now twists her gut in disgust. Those same fingertips trace the borders of her own, barely healing flesh, and then travel to the crease of her thigh, fluttering softly over smoother, unmarred flesh.

An idea strikes her.

Sympathy is human, and even though the essence of the Fire Nation is monstrous, its royalty is still human in mind and body...or so she hopes. (There's that stupid word again.) Zuko shares his needless company with her, lets her bathe with lavish soaps surrounded by servants. She wonders if that is sympathy or possibly guilt or neither.

Still, Katara intends to try, because even when all hope (silly, nonsensical hope – a pointless word, an inescapable concept seemingly for her) is lost, she continues to try. She thinks her brother would consider her absolutely crazy at this point. She thinks herself crazy.

Only a crazed girl like herself, with such bravery and persistence under her belt, would let the enemy's supposed compassion for a suffering human being guide her. Weakness...or cunning.

Does it matter?

She leaves the raw, bleeding skin behind and she doesn't notice the uneasy glances of weary servants in her direction past the dip of her eyes and the droll smile on her lips.

...

If Zuko isn't lying for once, then Aang is still alive.

She wonders with the clanking of chains if the rest of the walls of the palace are red as blood or black as a moonless sky. She needs to see it all for herself.

…

"Can I go out for a while?"

Her voice startles him because these are the first words she's said to him in days, and he's suddenly standing at attention and gaping at her like she's grown two faces. Then the folds of his brows come together in a combination of what must be confusion with a hint of anger, she's not sure, but his next words reveal some of that at least.

"You can't be serious," Zuko chokes out, his hands gripping the edge of the bed she's still strapped to. "I can't let you do that."

It honestly hurts her pride to ask for permission to do anything, even something so mundane as stepping into some sunlight, from a boy more worthless than dirt. But Katara buries any spared fragment of her ego beneath her sternum. (She needs to get to Aang, this humiliation is for him, remember the plan, _remember_.)

"I'll die if you keep me here." She admits it with eyes so wide and wet, her eyebrows furrowed and lips trembling so pathetically that it makes her insides churn and her head spin. "I just – I need some sunlight."

He appears to be deep in thought, his lower lip jutting out in a worried pout. Katara decides that one of the only truths he'd ever shared was his oddly awkward demeanor, something she'd once found endearing but now it only frustrates her. She watches his eyes travel along the length of her body, clothed in loose silks she never wanted, and she flinches when he reaches forward and wraps a rough hand around one of her wrists. She bites her lip, feels her eyes prickling because her skin is still raw where she chose not to heal it.

Katara has to look away when he shows signs of disapproval, because any human emotion in a man like him must be a farce. She can't believe that he really, truly care, only that he is preserving her life and minimal comforts because she is of use to him in this place. If his affect is real, then he would be Fire Lord as was planned, and he wouldn't still be a servant to his ruthless father (but she wouldn't want that anyway, because a man with such a weak resolve as his could never rule a nation.)

She has no explanation as to why he visits her. She doesn't want to know why. The truth to her is that he chooses not to see her suffer, but that this semblance of pity is becoming of a coward, and that is enough.

"You're too thin," he identifies with a lighter touch than before, as if he's conscious of the fact that he's hurting her even though she doesn't want him to be so aware, it doesn't make sense. So she winces again as if to test him, and he lets go entirely, spreading his palm stiffly over his knee. (He fails that test, because he should squeeze her wrist harder, and she can't comprehend it yet but she is flustered and even more furious than before.) "Are you even eating the food I've sent for you?"

"I don't want it," she admits, swinging her legs around to the front of her and letting them hang over the edge of the bed. They're bare, her legs, and they bump into Zuko's with the narrow space between them. He jumps a bit but he doesn't move out of the way, and though the proximity is one of discomfort, Katara holds her position and leans forward instead. "You can watch me, let me go out with my wrists bound, can't you? I need air, _please_."

She's breathing heavily, and his eyes drift downwards so briefly she barely notices it, but she does anyway and it makes her sick how right she is in her varied contemplations. Because most of the time she thought his gaze held so much respect for her, and she used to respond with such scorn, such utter _distaste_. Then he did so much that she never anticipated he could ever do for anyone (especially for herself, because he put so much on the line for the sake of her need for closure, for such a selfish thing and he didn't complain no matter what she said or how she pushed him) and it changed her and it changed their dynamic and soon enough, that respect seemed to morph into something else, something she couldn't quite define in simple words or actions.

Soon enough - and La blame her for being so frail, so easily misled by tales of redemption – every sneaking glance from those yellow discs, so seemingly vulnerable and open as a book, left her heart beating out of her chest and her waist seeking fire-coarsened palms again.

Katara's heart still races, a sadistic betrayal, but she can't ease herself away from any distaste that comes with it, either.

"No," Zuko asserts, shaking his head and scooting his chair away from her. She's taken aback for a moment, her lips parting on a silent gasp that he doesn't seem to notice. "I've already asked for too much by keeping you here. Father wanted me to throw you in the dungeons with the Avatar."

"I'd rather be there with him." There is truth in this statement, as much truth as there can be when admitting to wanting a lesser quality of life for the sake of a friend she can always trust. This is the only reason why she would stoop so low as to beg and plead before the enemy prince.

She wants to wound him in the event that there is any fragment of his soul left to wound, though she doubts it. She doubts that there is any truth to the respect he used to show her, too, as she did in the past. Trust is fragile and hers is more so than a glass figurine and the Fire Lord's lackey of a son is solely responsible. Yet she tests the waters regardless of her insecurities, because although she has nearly denounced hope, a shard of it remains lodged in her chest and it pushes her past her boundaries.

Katara wants to spit in his face, but that would defeat the purpose of this exercise.

"That isn't your decision to make." She bristles at this even though it's true and she hates it. And it doesn't help that Zuko's eyes are locked on hers as he says it and his lips are spread into a thin line and she detects the slightest bit of regret in his expression, but she doesn't want to believe in something so outrageous (and yet she wants to, because she needs to get to Aang and this is the only way.)

"Then tell me," she slumps forward, wrenching her gaze away from his and directing it instead at the blackness of the cool tiles beneath her feet, "why can't I be with Aang?"

Silence pours over them, and even as the minutes go by Katara can't bring herself to glance back at him and infer why he isn't answering. She doesn't want his expression to reveal anything to her, she doesn't want to find out that way, and she's afraid, so afraid that she already knows why.

She's been arrogant in the past, and perhaps this was that same, stubborn arrogance as before despite all her current misgivings. Perhaps she's biting off more than she can chew yet again.

Maybe, hopefully she's wrong. It's not all that outrageous, considering she's been wrong about everything else. She tastes something bitter in her mouth again, weighing her tongue down and deeming her silent, though it doesn't make it any easier to wait for a response.

It feels like an eternity before he says anything.

"You're safe here."

He's up and is gone before she remembers to breathe.

…

The brunt of his attention was always on her, on pleasing her, on making her smile at him for once, to accept him and all or some of his faults.

Was it all for this?

She wonders and hopes that is all.

But she can be so _arrogant_. And he is a puzzle unsolved.


	4. Solitude Is Not Measured

Author's Note:

I may have done a bad thing, though I promise there is no agenda attached to it. This is war, war is unforgiving, and the Fire Nation has always been merciless throughout.

Basically, AtLA has so much more potential as a show written for adults.

* * *

She soaks up the warmth of sunlight like a starving man offered a piece of bread, but that doesn't mean she's any happier than she was in the dark, muggy confines of her prison. Happiness is not a luxury she can afford.

Besides, Zuko is watching her from beneath the shade of a marble pillar, and her wrists are still bound, but their soreness no longer noticeable. He insisted that a healer take care of her chafing skin despite her protests. Stupid boy, ruining all of her plans.

Katara finds it more calming to ignore him, so she focuses on the small ripples of water surfacing the pond at her feet. Foolish of anyone to let her near water _again_, but perhaps they know she stands no chance against a palace full of guards and soldiers and master firebenders. She concentrates instead on the chirping of turtleducks, their fluffy heads bobbing in and out of the water.

The air is hot and humid, and the sun burns the top of her head. She envies the freedom of these creatures, that they can bathe and eat and play when and where they choose.

She takes a breath, gambles with her own limited ounce of freedom for the briefest of moments and dips a toe into the water. Immediately, Zuko is at her side and grasping her elbows, and Katara thinks it's because she's starting to lose her balance but she knows better.

"It's time to go inside," he murmurs, mouth near her ear and chest to her back and he's a solid, warm weight so she tugs out of his grip. He lets go without hesitation.

…

Her disappointment is hardly noticeable beside the pure frustration burning in her stomach. She is disgusted with him, with herself. She is infuriated, because she was too focused on her own temptations to scan the courtyard, to examine the guards, to see if there is a crack in security that she can somehow slip through when – if he lets her go outside again.

And as much as it pains her to think about it, she wishes she hadn't pulled away.

Katara convinces herself that it's because of her plan, that it must be working in a way despite her most recent failure. But she wonders if that's not the whole truth of it.

She convinces herself that she doesn't truly know, if only to save face. She can only be so weak, a waterbending master and warrior, a woman born to nurture and destroy, she will only allow herself so much.

…

Plotting was never her forte. That was Sokka's job. He'd be ashamed of her if he knew what she was trying to do.

She'd explain that it wasn't about her, that they had nothing to lose anymore. The world can still be saved, there's always hope. He would laugh at her.

She would laugh in return, hollowly, because that's the best joke she's ever told.

Katara will carve the word "hope" into her skin where it hurts the most, where she's been stained by dirtied hands that gently, shamefully caress her scars and blemishes and smoothness when she pretends to be asleep. She doesn't doubt anymore, after all this time spent thinking and thinking, that those hands touch her with regret and pained contemplation, but forgiveness is no longer something she can offer.

Zuko can't be forgiven, but she will play this little game of his and she will do it for the only one who truly matters in this Agni-forsaken place.

She leans into his touch, peeks at him through lidded eyes, and he glances back with clear amazement.

They both remain silent, watching. She waits.

He doesn't leave this time.

…

"This was my mother's pond."

Katara pretends not to acknowledge the subtle bump of his shoulder into hers, nor does she turn to follow his voice. The origins of this place benefit her in no way, and she hardly cares what it means to the prince. She senses that he's looking at her, waiting for a response, but she offers none.

So he continues. "I used to sit beside her while she fed the turtleducks. They...never liked me."

She nearly snorts, but she catches herself before any air can whistle through her nostrils. She wants to tell him that there's no surprise there, that he's not exactly likeable. It's not true, though, and the truth of it forces her to turn her face further away and to bite her tongue.

A few moments of silence thicken between them. Katara shifts, makes to step away from the stoney edge of the shallow water – she needs to explore a bit, determine if there are any other water sources nearby, observe the guard's watch practices and paths – and so she does until her departure is interrupted by a firm grip on her shoulder. She nearly curses, but she lets the stiffness of her bodice reveal her reaction instead.

Zuko doesn't let go. He turns her to face him, runs a coarse, heated palm down the length of her arm before gently wrapping it around her thin wrist over cool, metal cuffs. The contrast makes her shudder.

"Katara, listen, I - I have to tell you something."

There is concern where it shouldn't be, glistening in his narrow eyes, darkened by the shade of the shaggy length of his bangs. This strikes her, because he looks like her "friend" Zuko, the one who helped her and her motley group of friends, the one who put his life on the line to protect her. He sounds like her friend when he says her name, and it leaves a twinge in her spine. He looks and sounds just like Zuko, but that...that wasn't real.

Her fingers twitch, she weakly strains against the bindings around her wrists though they don't move, weighed down by humility and hollow anger and the pressure of his hand wrapped around her forearm.

Stupid boy. He'd never make it as a ruler. He's too vulnerable even now, a mockery of Fire Nation royalty. His father, his sister would ruin him in the end and yet he follows them in their wake like a beggar after the false promise of gold coins.

The futility of his fate is laughable, so why can't she bring herself to laugh?

"The Avatar will be executed in three days time."

Zuko focuses on her eyes while he says it, and she nearly goes cross-eyed, nearly loses her balance with the sudden force of her heart pounding against her rib cage and the loss of blood to her face and head. She feels herself go pale, her fingertips go cold, her lips go numb and her knees buckle.

Somehow he knows, he knows what his words have done and he grips her around the waist and holds her in place. Katara doesn't cling to him for support, she doesn't cry out or shed any tears. She lets him lower the both of them onto the grass. The buzzing in her ears drowns out any and all noise.

Katara thinks he's apologizing or he's calling her name or he's summoning a guard and she can't comprehend why. She doesn't want to hear it anyway. She peers past him at an ambiguous spot on the wall nearest to him and lets her mind go blank.

…

He's apologizing to her. He's begging her to speak.

He caresses her cheek softly, wipes away damp streams of tears, presses his lips onto the line of her jaw and tastes the pain he's caused her.

He doesn't pull away or make a noise even as melted ice and blood soak through the fabric of his robes.

…

Katara wakes with a start, her head spinning and her chest constricting and her eyes stinging.

She takes pause to look around her. These aren't her usual quarters, it's too bright here and the bed is small and smells of washed linen. And the food at her bedside is different, not that she has the appetite for it anyway.

She pats her face and finds no tears, scans the bedding and detects no bloody stains.

Then she begins to wonder, to realize. How long has it been? How long was she out? What happened – what -

Zuko's announcement comes back to drown her all at once.

She vomits over the side of the bed.

…

He doesn't seek her out for the rest of the day.

She is guided back to her room that night on trembling legs, and he isn't there waiting for her. Katara isn't disappointed, though a suffocating part of her just wants answers. She may have given up, but she wants to know. She wants to know that Zuko tried.

It doesn't make any sense, it's so important to her even though it doesn't make sense – she knows his true colors as she always has, the weak, useless prince - yet she can't seem to build up the courage to mention it even to the servants who bathe her, to ask where he is or whether he's coming back.

Perhaps, maybe, she's too broken now to bother.

Spirits...she wants to cry but no tears will come anymore.

…

Katara thinks it's cliché to think the sky is mourning the loss of the Avatar. The cycle will renew itself, only to be smothered again in fire's wake.

In her eyes, the world burns instead, its last vestige of purity, its last chance for hope gone.

And she couldn't do anything to stop it.

…

She hasn't eaten in days, a week, maybe two, and she hasn't slept in more.

She is truly alone. The weight of this reality sinks into her bones and forms empty heaviness in parts of her that aren't already hollowed out.

Acknowledging his presence at her bedside is useless. There is no energy left to waste, but what miniscule bit of pride she has left won't let her bother.

She is nothing without Aang.

She is nothing without her family.

The prince has her now, the silent corpse that she is, and she hears or hallucinates a quiet apology on his lips but what will words change now?

Katara may believe in his words because she has nothing left to lose anymore, but honesty has never done anyone any good. She has learned this in the hardest of ways.


	5. Gratitude

Author's Note: Azula always lies, or so Zuko claims.

The mystery of it all continues~

Thanks for sticking with this nonsensical story despite how confusing it is and despite my not answering any actual questions or explaining motives or haha man I'd be a frustrated reader if I were y'all. (Oof Azula seems so slimy here my apologies.)

* * *

"Why doesn't she say anything?"

"Doesn't she have a heart?"

"The Avatar is gone, and to think he was just a _child_. What a pity."

"Don't be like that. The Fire Nation is safer now than it's ever been."

She imagines her element carved into daggers and thrust through the throats of these miserable women who tend to her so blindly. And yet, she doesn't even have the strength or the desire to manipulate a single drop of water. She wonders vaguely if she's sad or angry or simply empty. She wonders if drowning herself in the essence of her soul, the water she so carelessly dips her skin into, will give her some sense of emotion. What she wouldn't give to feel desperation again.

Katara dips her head under the water and holds her breath, her eyes closed and her mind a blank void.

She only manages a few seconds of muffled silence, a few seconds of calm before she is yanked out of the water by her hair. The woman is ragging on about something or another while scraping her nails through tangle upon tangle. Katara doesn't bother wincing when she brings out the brush, she doesn't listen to complaints thrown her way about how horrible Water Tribe hair is, how grateful she should be

that such expensive shampoos and silks are wasted on her kind of filth.

All she can envision is wasted opportunity.

…

"Please eat."

It's pathetic how the Fire Prince begs her, as if she is actually worth something to him alive. Everyone else is gone because of his betrayal, so why should she matter.

Katara sees him hold out a bowl in steady hands just in her peripheral vision, because facing him directly is too hard now. It's more than her frail mind and even frailer body can manage. She thinks he's looking at the ground while he does this.

There is a shuddering, lengthy moment of silence before he speaks again.

"He didn't suffer."

Picken shit. She can now believe kindness even from Prince Zuko though she also knows, she can still remember how and where to draw the line.

"I wouldn't let anyone hurt him." She thinks his voice cracks when he says this, but Katara is so bogged down by nothingness that she can hardly comprehend emotion even in herself. Pity is a luxury she can't offer to anyone.

And yet her loose tongue always fails her, no matter how wasted the words.

"Really? Funny, he's _dead_ because of you." She doesn't react though her eyes strain to watch his arms fall, the bowl of food now resting in his lap. She doesn't miss how his fingers now tremble over the edge of the delicate glass.

"Katara," he starts, a hard swallow initiating a pregnant pause. Her name sounds so familiar that, at the same time, it sounds almost foreign on his lips now. "I did what I could."

"Aren't you just so generous, then? Should I worship you in thanks?" Again, her voice betrays her despite her utmost desire to act completely ignorant of his presence at her side (yet again, yet _again_), but fury has always been impossible for her to disguise. Katara will never give up on Aang.

She will never stop loving the boy she lost.

She lost him because of Zuko.

"Just listening to you makes me sick," she spits before knocking the bowl out of Prince Zuko's hands and she snarls, her thin cheeks hollowed around perfect, white teeth. He doesn't even have the gall to look at her but at least he is shocked and she sees that now because she's snarling _at him_, and perhaps he knows just how much she despises him for all of the losses she's faced, endless, all painful, all unforgotten and never to be forgiven ever.

_Ever_.

Because a tear is gliding along the porcelain, unmarred half of his face and his shoulders are shaking beneath sharp cuts of armor.

Katara reminds herself again that pity is a luxury. She cannot offer it. He does not deserve pity.

"Nothing was supposed to happen this way."

She watches him for the briefest of moments, frustration rolling off of her her in waves, because this is what Zuko should have expected so why, _why_ does he mourn? She quickly convinces herself that arguing with him is pointless now that everything is truly over, and she rolls over on the bed to face the wall opposite to him.

She closes off her mind to the quiet, subtle sounds of a truly fallen prince's self-inflicted pain.

…

Katara is startled awake by the unfamiliarity of a smooth, silken voice along the edge of her ear.

"I see you're not dead yet."

She blinks slowly while a part of her contemplates shooting up out of bed and getting into a fighting stance, a skill she thinks she's nearly forgotten while bound in bed for so long. But this is _Princess Azula_, and Katara doesn't have much reason to fight anymore nor does she have the strength to stand up to the inherently evil royal.

It's not like her to not try. She lost herself when the Avatar was lost to the world.

Besides, the Fire Princess would only love it for her to react. She knows this though Azula has never thought to grace her with her presence before in this place.

How generous the Fire Nation royal family can be.

Katara watches the princess wrinkle her nose while she scans the bed, probably deciding that Water Tribe filth is nothing but even in blood-tinged Fire Nation garb. Then she glances at the chair beside her and wipes the seat off before plopping down with the scraping of armor. She watches all of this through lidded eyes and lets her brittle sense of humor remind her that Fire Nation scum can't feel anything at all, including comfort.

Azula is smirking at her. Odd how this demon swathed in metal can be so unsettling when nothing else has created any real fear in her thus far. Katara chooses to sit up to face the girl. Might as well preserve whatever inkling of her dignity is left.

"You're breaking poor Zuzu's heart," the princess croons, her full, painted lips curled into a clearly exaggerated pout. "I didn't picture you as the _ungrateful_ type. Just look at you, all skin and bones. See, if you were as thick-skinned as every waterbender I've ever met – now I haven't met many but that's not important – then I'd say all this precious food is wasted on you."

She points to the bowl of dried, congealed rice on the table, its meaty smell faded with time and resistant ignorance. Her fingernail is unnaturally shaved away into a claw-like shape and painted a deep red, which disturbs Katara nearly as much as the sharp yellow eyes staring her down.

"Although I'd say it's wasted on you anyway, but Zuzu only listens when it suits him." She crosses her legs and leans back and her eyes roll in wide circles. "He actually thinks he's doing you a favor, but you and I both know how slowly he catches on to the important things."

"Why are you here?" Katara rasps, finally breaking her silence. She may be more numb than she's ever been, but her patience still wears thin with enough prodding, and she wants this aspect of her nightmares to _leave_.

Azula's grin widens over perfect teeth, and it seems as if her eyes are shining. Katara shifts in place.

"I don't need a reason to visit a prisoner, even if she's my brother's -" she pauses, a demeaning chuckle dimpling her cheeks, "_special_ guest. He's so very fond of you, you know, though I suppose I can't blame him entirely. "

She reaches forward, her pointed nails grazing the surface of Katara's darker, drier cheek and she flinches away. Azula's smile softens but it is no less unnerving.

"They say Water Tribe women are – how do I phrase this without being absolutely vulgar – oh!" She leans her elbows onto her knees and rests her chin daintily in the cup of her palms and practically _glows_. "Water Tribe women are so fertile for a reason, apparently. I suppose you're pretty too, for a waterbender that is."

Katara feels as if her hands and her feet and the skin on her face are gone and replaced with nothingness, and she knows that she must have gone pale though this is only a reminder of what she thought she already knew. Wasn't this part of her initial plan anyway, the one that failed to save the only one left who mattered?

Wasn't she trying to seduce the prince, to make him fall into the trap of her body no matter how disgusting the idea was, how ashamed her family would be? Didn't she need this to save the world's only hope, her only beloved Aang?

Before her entire world crumbled, when Zuko was starting to get under her skin with his feigned selflessness...wouldn't Azula's words have meant nothing then if only to provoke her?

Those were better times. This is now, and she believes every word the princess says.

"Oh, don't you worry. All of your tea is protective, I made sure of that, so you can have your way with each other all you want. I'm only so relieved that you didn't pass on some nasty disease to him, he is the crowned prince and all. It would be a shame if something were to happen to him."

"I – I didn't -" Katara starts, but her voice is caught in her throat and Azula's piercing eyes, glowing so brightly with utter amusement, make her feel so small, so useless. (Though that's what she truly is no matter what, isn't she? Useless, utterly _useless_.)

"Hmm? No matter, even father's had his share of fun, and it's about time Zuzu became a man. Looking at you, I can see why Mai didn't do him any good." Azula laughs while Katara feels the suffocating urge to vomit. "Although really, waterbender, you should eat something. You seem awfully pale and you need your strength. I'll send a new tray over, and I expect you to finish everything on it this time."

The princess rises up from her seat onto light, graceful feet. Katara can only see shuffling movements through cloudy vision that only clouds over further and she hears a muffled fairwell – Azula is leaving, she's finally leaving, but her departure eases her so very little.

She fights the urge to dry heave over the side of the bed and lies back down.

…

So it's just as she thought.

She's only meant to be a whore to the victorious crown prince of the Fire Nation.

Zuko's cunning continues to escape her, she should have known, _she should have known_.

Katara now fully understands herself as a war prize, a gift to the victorious prince, because she is groomed and perfumed though she holds no importance to anyone otherwise. Zuko doesn't confirm this, he never has, and his tears show regret for nothing but death and destruction caused by him, entirely his fault, entirely his doing. He is never truly clear about anything, he rarely converses with her, and so she doesn't push for an answer anymore.

Princess Azula has offered her everything she ever needed to know anyway.

She now knows what is true, she knows what is fact, but he always touches her so delicately and it makes her physically sick how her heart races and how she still wonders regardless of these circumstances.

She stares at the porcelain cup filled to the brim with contaminated tea and she gags quietly behind trembling fingers.

That monster.

She won't let him near her anymore. She won't let him ruin anything else.

Katara will die before he takes anything else from her.

…

_How generous the Fire Nation royal family can be. _


	6. Curiosity Kills Her

Author's Note:

Why did Zuko do it? Good question. Find out next time on Burn to - just kidding, read ahead and you'll see.

I don't want to look at this chapter ever again, oh goodness, it was painful to write. Never again.

* * *

Katara overheard Azula's words once, an exchange between a loyal brother and his wicked sister, a repeat of what had already been so bluntly revealed to her.

Maybe she really is a stupid little girl, because she's always a victim to indestructible curiosity. Loathe to see the princess in her pretentious, armored glory, she listened as far behind yet as near to the door as her restraints allowed her to soothe her accursed inquisitiveness.

"_Just think about it, Zuzu. I'm sure father knew the physical pleasures of ultimate royalty when he was your age. He's only allowing you what's yours."_

"_She deserves some peace after everything she's been through."_

A pause, a skipped beat in her chest.

No, words don't matter, and she doesn't need pity, especially from him, especially when it's a farce.

"_Oh right, she's your 'friend' after all. Please, you're such a sap. The girl probably wants you dead, so she can't possibly hate you more than she already does no matter what you do now."_

"_Even if that's true -"_

"_Of course it's true."_

She hates to agree with Azula, but _of course it's_ _true_.

"_Listen, Zuzu, your concerns are great and all and you'd make such a sensitive Fire Lord, but you already ruined her life. Might as well take advantage of it, not that a Water Tribe barbarian is anything special. It's too bad Mai is locked away forever."_

Mai? A friend...or more? Too bad. Katara can only share what little pity she has left with another of Zuko's victims.

"_Don't – don't talk about her like that."_

He sounds broken. He always seems broken these days.

Who cares?

"_Father expects you to use your gift," she yawns quite loudly, "or he might do something about it. Wouldn't that be a shame?"_

Katara half expected Zuko to storm through the door at that point, because she at least knows of his personality and that is what he would do (she wasn't sure at the time why he would, but that was not important, not when she was so panicked.) But instead there was only silence broken by the tapping of boots on marble, and that tapping slowly, very slowly disappeared.

She was left alone kneeling near the doorway, her knees knocking together beneath weight she already had so much trouble holding with how weak she was. She couldn't get up, she couldn't get away.

And it was because of a familiar tightness in her chest though more intense, more unbearable, more nauseating and gut-wrenching. She remembers whipping herself around to face the wall, her chest heaving, her lungs seemingly full of water unbending.

Katara recognizes this as fear, entirely unwelcome.

(She has heard stories about Water Tribe women creating families with the enemy, and the truth of it always, _always_ seemed so vile. Those poor women, being victimized in such terrible ways. They would never actually _want_ something like that.)

Katara would never want something like that.

…

Azula doesn't visit, Zuko doesn't visit, and it's a huge relief because every reminder of them makes her sick to her stomach.

Every time she is bathed, she watches the stillness of the water broken by the invasive hands of servants more entitled than she is, and it shakes her, disappoints her. Her calm, her self-enforced acceptance of her dark future has been shaken, and it's all because nothing, seemingly _nothing_ will corner her into devaluing herself.

Katara is a woman. Katara is a fighter.

Katara has lost everything she's ever cared about and even the strongest person in the world couldn't endure so much loss.

And yet, her virtue still matters. That's all she has, all she's had any control over, and she realizes this even as it's the last thing to be taken from her aside from her physical life. Her subconscious still fights for some semblance of control, she can't help it, she has never been weak.

Never.

She holds her breath against perfumes glossed over her cleansed skin.

She drinks the contraceptive tea because she is thirsty and that is all she is offered anymore.

She reminds herself yet again, yet again that the Fire Nation truly is cruel.

Prince Zuko...Zuko...

He is _cruel_.

…

Katara doesn't remember much.

A servant let her out into the courtyard, arms still bound. He said something about how she's too thin, too pale, that the princess wants her to be healthy (she knows why, and it still makes her shudder, but she says nothing.)

It's all so hazy. The grass seemed so soft between her bare toes, and the sun shone so radiantly, so warmly onto her grayish skin. And she sat near the pond and stared out into the water, watched the turtleducks splash around and watch her in turn.

Her vision failed her eventually.

The next thing she remembers is waking up in a small, clean bed again. She blinks heavily, slowly, and a small of her concentrating mind tells her that she prefers this place because it's not the same as her prison, even though it's obviously a clinic meant for royalty. Katara will not argue. She knows no one would put the prince's..._special guest_...in the servants' quarters. She knows now that the princess herself would never allow it.

Her head is spinning when she tries to look around the room, and she practically faints again when she spots deep red armor outlined in gold digging into the curve of the mattress she's splayed out on. She glances only for a moment, only enough to confirm that it's not Princess Azula, then turns away and stuffs her face into the pillow.

Why can't these people wear normal clothing for once?

She hears him clear his voice and cough a few times in a tone muffled by the pillow. He's obviously hesitating, as he frequently does, and it only gets less and less endearing the more he does it. The pause afterward is long, so long and the hairs at the base of her neck stick up and prickle her skin and this is _unbearable _as nearly everything else he's put her through.

"I brought you some tea," he practically mumbles while she wants so badly to scream. "I watched them make it."

She is relieved though she tries not to show it, or at least she hopes he doesn't see her shoulders droop even in the slightest. But Prince Zuko has always been perceptive in the most inconvenient of ways, and he shows it so effortlessly sometimes.

"Here, you must be thirsty." Caring for others isn't a strength of his, though he tries and tries and obnoxiously tries but damn if she isn't absolutely parched in this Fire Nation heat. Katara sits up begrudgingly, keeps her gaze entirely away from his and snatches the tea from his outstretched hands.

She sips at it slowly, feeling Zuko's eyes on her the entire time, and it isn't until she licks up the last drop when it occurs to her that he could have watched to _make sure_ there was whatever herbal concoction of contraception placed in it.

Katara sets the teacup down on the bed with shaky hands.

She will fight with her bare hands as she has nothing else, and she will try despite being so much weaker and so much smaller than the Prince. Regretful, yet true.

He doesn't move for a long while, but when he does, it's to take hold of the teacup. Katara visibly flinches.

"I know you don't believe me," he murmurs, the molded porcelain fitted between his fingertips. It's easier to watch his fingers, with their rough tips, their nails filed away imperfectly. It's easier to avoid how insecure he sounds, how uncomfortable, how easily she could believe him when she absolutely _can't_.

Zuko is endlessly confusing, unlike his sister who so bluntly tells her the truth of her fate. So he tries again, because he _should_ know that Katara is lost to him but he is so _persistent_. She will not be his friend if she ever was. She will never truly believe him.

"Katara," he starts, again forcing a small shudder out of her at the long unheard sound of her name, "I would never force you – I mean, that's not why you're here and not, you know, where Aa - in prison." She wants to spit out how ironic that is into his face, but she remains quiet and continues to watch his hands as they pass the cup back and forth, back and forth. Her silence and his own lacking eloquence seems to agitate him further, as he passes it more quickly before dropping it onto the bed.

Then he is kneeling beside her, his hands gripping the edge with a shaking force, and Katara's eyes are torn away from his blanching knuckles to finally face his own. She is no longer stunned by his range of emotions, but it is impossible to ignore the deeply burrowing pit in her stomach any longer.

Zuko is neither in tears nor is he pleading with her. He is neither angry nor is he driven by ruthless fury. No, the expression on his face is unreadable and yet he tries to express some emotion through his eyes. Katara can't read it, she can't and that is so unlike her and so unlike him.

But she is not moved by this gesture. There is nothing in her left to move, except maybe curiosity, of which hers is apparently endless.

So perhaps she is curious.

It's not like he's told her why any of this is happening. It's not like she's wondered endlessly, _endlessly_ how he could ruin her like this. It's not like she's thought to ask. This isn't a pleasant situation. This isn't simple conversation over tea.

"Why?"

Zuko is obviously thrown off by her directness – as if it's really anything new, as if Katara isn't one to say to him of all people exactly what's on her mind – as he swallows hard, his eyes widen, he sits back on his heels and that can't possibly be comfortable because of the armor he's wearing.

She asks again, "why?" He knows what she's talking about, she's sure of it, so she doesn't elaborate.

Though after a few long moments of waiting, Katara isn't so sure anymore. He's thinking, she can tell, because his eyes are shifting around and he's chewing his lower lip raw and his grip on the bedsheets slackens and tightens. The longer she waits, the more her frustration builds and builds, and the stranger, the more unbelievable his betrayal becomes.

Then a little flicker of hope settles where she doesn't want it to, that maybe he's planned this all along, that maybe sacrifices had to be made -

Desperation is talking again, clawing at her stomach. She nearly wretches at the severity of her own thoughts, at how revolting her own mind can be.

Of course, Zuko takes this moment to break his silence, jolting Katara out of her reverie.

"I knew that," he begins, crestfallen, his voice broken up by nervous swallows, "I knew that you couldn't win, when we got to Ember Island I knew."

She observes his crouched figure, eyes wide, her lower lip trembling. When she doesn't say anything, Zuko goes on as if he didn't pause, as if he didn't take a moment to regain his bearings. (As if she's not truly the one who needs to do the same, as if he really needs it.)

"I actually thought that, if I joined you, I could make a difference. Maybe I could show the world that the Fire Nation's prince isn't that worthless." He nearly chokes on his words, like he realizes how selfish he sounds, like he feels the fire of Katara's fury starting to burn. "What – what I mean is, I really did think my father's reign should end, and I thought the Avatar would be the one to win. But then I actually joined you, I saw how little progress he'd made, and – and then Azula nearly destroyed us."

"So you're just a coward," she points out rather directly, unsympathetic in her demeanor, "and selfish."

"I am," he admits surprisingly quickly, "and I'm ashamed, Katara, I'm – my father didn't take me back easily, he didn't – he didn't want to -"

"When you fought Azula -"

"Handing him over wasn't an option, it never was, even – even if Azula caught on. I thought that it would be enough, enough to -"

"To turn on me." Katara is livid, she's sure that he can sense it, because she's sure that she's bending fire with her breath when Zuko is the only firebender there. He lowers his head further. "So what you're telling me is, you just wanted to be on the winning side?"

"No! No, Katara, that's not – that's not what I'm saying. My father is wrong, I still believe it, but he's too powerful, Katara, you have to understand -"

"Don't say my name like that," she whispers, voice laden with suppressed fury. He hears her, lifts his gaze, apologizes a few times. Katara doesn't want him to apologize. She wants to move, to shake more out of him despite his cooperation, because that much of an explanation is hardly enough, but she's too shocked, too taken aback by his utter cowardice. "I don't have to understand anything you say to me. You're pathetic, so – so _pathetic_!"

"Is it really pathetic to know when it's time to give up?!" He's standing over her now, matching her rage, masking his prior self-abhorrence. It's a significant turnabout, enough for Katara to shrink back. He has fire, she has no water, she isn't _stupid_. "Everyone is gone and it's because they – we _all_ overestimated the Avatar!"

This is so unlike the Zuko she thinks she knows, the annoying prince who never gives up, who spent so many months chasing her and her friends across the world. To think that he's gone through so much only to _give up_.

To think that he might actually be _right_...she wants to scream again.

"Aang wasn't ready and yet none of you listened to my warnings," he hisses, though he doesn't appear as angered as he was anymore. There's sadness in his tone again, so she listens more closely this time. This is so confusing, so utterly confusing and she still doesn't understand what to make of Zuko's explanation. That doesn't mean she leaves her guard down. He is still a coward in her eyes, she won't buy his story completely, not yet.

"Then why am I here?" she asks, shrinking back even further. "From what you're saying, you didn't want to die for our cause. I -" she pauses, wrings the blanket with tired hands, "if you let me, I would have. Just trying to save the world from you people would've been worth it."

Katara notices that she's awoken something else inside Zuko aside from anger, sadness, regret with the impact of her confession (of sorts.) Now he's pleading, the gold in his eyes fading to grey, the scar morphing half of his face into a perpetual glare softening. She inexplicably wants to touch that marred flesh despite its significance being masked by the rest of his imperfections. She has always been caring - her ultimate weakness.

"Uncle," he winces, carrying on though shakier, "always told me that I never think things through, but I didn't want – Azula would've killed you if I hadn't gotten to you first."

"How brave."

"Please, Ka – please, I wanted to save you, alright? I don't regret it, even though," he pauses to take a deep breath, "even though you hate it here, and you hate – you hate me. I deserve it, I'm not...like _you_."

She doesn't respond though he waits briefly. He's right again, she's a much better person than he is, there is no doubt about that. She still chooses not to say anything. He swallows nervously again, continues.

"I didn't realize that keeping you here would – I mean, Uncle always said," he groans and holds his face in his hands, "I only thought to save you, not to – to use you like – like -"

"I know." She feels empty when she says it, rage and fear whittled away into nothingness. Katara believes him albeit reluctantly. It's not like she has anything else to believe in anymore. It's not like anything she ever believed in makes sense anymore.

"What?" Zuko drops his hands and reveals that he's genuinely shocked. Katara's not sure she appreciates any level of innocence in him.

"The princess told me and I want you to leave."

It's abrupt even for her. She wants him gone before her hollowness becomes something she doesn't want, like panic, like fear.

Now she's commanding the crown prince of the Fire Nation with no more than a bat of her eyelashes and all he does, all he responds with is a momentary look of amazement. Then he stands, his hands in tight fists at his sides, and he nods at her. He nods as if in understanding, as if he really does know how he's wronged her, as if he gets it.

Finally.

"I'd never do that," he murmurs, "I'd never dishonor you like that."

Katara thinks he says he's sorry too, but by now she's tuned him out, and she figures he gets the idea because he takes the teacup and leaves rather quickly.

Zuko has always been perceptive of her feelings.

She _hates_ him.

Her face finds the soft downy pillow adorning the bed. It blocks out light, some sounds. It soaks up cold tears she has no intention of stopping. She doesn't hear a servant come in with food. It's so easy to ignore hunger these days, so she doesn't touch it. Again.

She wants to be strong but it's impossible to be _this_ strong, not while her mind and heart are at the mercy of the coward who _saved_ her.

_She _hates_ him_.


	7. Relief

Author's Note:

This is a short chapter, and hopefully it's not too predictable, but I figured y'all need a breather. I know there are a lot of questions that have come up, but they should be addressed in later chapters.

Please feel free to ask questions and leave some honest opinions about what you think, if and how I can do better, etc. This is my first venture into multichaptered fic so it's a learning process as well. =)

* * *

Fire Nation food is disgusting. The flavors are too strong, too overwhelming. The spices burn at your tongue and your throat and choke you like they only exist for the palates of native people. Each meal is colorful as the next, layered with reds and greens and a mixture of yellow shades.

All of it is deceptively beautiful, just as this nation's people, just as its people have hearts of molten steel and nothing more. They embody the very volcano they inhabit, calm, dormant until the time is right, until the desire for destruction is ripened to its fullest.

Or maybe their prince is the only true embodiment of this island Katara is stranded on.

She stares at the plate of whatever the hell these people are trying to force down her throat, ample bitterness drowning her gut. It looks like meat again, painted red like practically everything else in this Spirit-forsaken land. It reminds her of other things, of things she's seen, of a war she wishes to forget.

Her stomach rolls in waves of nausea instead of hunger. She's forgotten what hunger even feels like.

"You must eat," the servant beside her pleads, his eyes wide and brown and his fingers and palms linked together against his chest. He's much older, probably the same age as General Iroh, yet her mind automatically compares this man to Zuko – she can't seem to focus on anything else anymore which is so _irritating_ – and he is so small, so frail compared to the royal boy donned in armor. It's not even the metal that adorns his frame, not the crown that pins his hair up that makes this distinction so obvious to her. She finds that Zuko emotes with his eyes, and his eyes are a bright gold, and this man pleads with everything else.

How annoying.

She prefers the lack of subtlety set before her now.

The servant steps forward, takes the utensils laid out so neatly on the tray (why do they even bother) and holds them out in front of Katara's face. She squints, inches back a bit towards the middle of the bed, but his reach only follows.

It's funny. This man has been at her side for so long, bringing her meals, providing freshly cleaned clothing, guiding her to the courtyard for fresh air in place of Zuko. In a way, he's stuck with her, the nasty little waterbender. And yet, she's never bothered to learn his name. It's funny how unlike her that is, how little she cares anymore.

"Her highness Princess Azula wants you to eat, so you should. She cares about your wellbeing." He seems so sincere as he says this, and all she has to offer in response is a snort louder than intended.

"Please, your health is at stake." He emphasizes this statement by jerking his hands around in wild circles through the air and she is slightly amused by his exaggerated movements. She watches on instead of reaching forward to relieve him of his duty, and he becomes even more exasperated. "The Princess will – she's not going to like it if you keep this up. She doesn't like disobedience of any sort."

"I don't care about that," Katara retorts, turning away from the disheveled man at her side. "She can kill me and I wouldn't care."

At this, he sets the metal sticks back down on the tray with a quiet clicking sound and seats himself down on the edge of the bed. Katara thinks this a bit forward, but for all he's done for her, she doesn't stop him. Even as he leans forward, takes her hands into his knobby ones, and even as she watches his wrinkled eyes crease near her periphery, she doesn't push him away.

Perhaps a sense of comfort doesn't hurt once in a while. He may be Fire Nation, but he hasn't hurt her...yet.

"You remind me of someone I knew once, Miss Katara," he offers, dipping his gaze in concentration. "She was strong, just like you."

He shouldn't be saying this, he shouldn't be trying to comfort her at all and Katara knows that _he_ knows it. She listens.

"You have been through many hardships, you have suffered. Forgive me for speaking out of turn," he frowns and sighs before continuing, "but I do not think your family would have wanted you to die here."

"They wouldn't want to see me in chains, either," she points out, rattling her bindings for emphasis.

"You're right," he nods in agreement, "but I am sure they would expect you to be strong. That is asking much of anyone, isn't it?"

Katara hesitates before she nods as well.

"I have heard stories of the master waterbender who traveled with the Avatar. I have heard of your skill, your strength." He pats the back of her hand gently. "And I have heard of your selflessness, Miss Katara, though only a bit. I mentioned before that I knew someone like you, a brave soldier she was. She loved with all of her heart and that was all that mattered to her. She didn't have a vengeful bone in her body, but she fought for everything she cared about."

It's surprising to hear positivity concerning her even from a servant of the Fire Nation. That he mentions her and a Fire Nation soldier in the same thought nips at her a bit. No matter in the wake of everything that's happened to her so far, so she forgets for the sake of knowing.

"Who are you talking about?" she asks, tact lost in insatiable curiosity.

"My wife."

Katara's lips part before she chooses to inquire further. She thinks she knows what he'll say if she asks how it happened or what happened. Or rather, she thinks it isn't important so there is no point.

And she is reminded that many have lost so much on both sides of this war, that she is not the only one to have lost her entire family.

(She isn't the only one to be a prisoner of the ones who took them away.)

Her heart sinks, sadness overcomes her. She has waited for this emotion to consume her again, to feel the weight of misery. Numbness isn't preferable at all, she concludes, because it's unnerving, because emptiness is meant to be filled with something, anything.

Katara is sad, but she is not alone in this place right now.

Whether the tingling in her back and neck is a sign of relief or not, she isn't sure, and it's because she doesn't remember what "relief" feels like. She hopes that is it.

She hopes again if only a very tiny bit.

The corners of her mouth twitch and her lips waver; her fingers twitch in his hands. Then she returns his grasp with a firm grip.

"Please, just call me Katara."

He smiles.

Then he points a finger in the air as if reminded of something. He reaches back and grasps the nearly forgotten plate of food and places it on the bed in the space between them.

"It isn't very spicy, Mi – Katara. You will like it, I promise."

She blinks at his bright and smiling face and wonders briefly if his mood is infectious now that she acknowledges his existence more. It's not that she's happy at all – it's basically impossible to feel that way under her circumstances. But it prompts her to look at her food and wonder...

So what if she eats a little? Maybe starving herself to death isn't the most dignified way to go, even if she'd rather die by her own hands than by those of Azula (not that it matters all that much.) It's an oddly light feeling, to take control in a different way.

It makes her think.

It makes her wonder.

She breaks off a small piece of cold chicken and places it in her mouth. It's more bland than she expects. She gags a bit at first after swallowing – her stomach hasn't been useful in a long, long time – but the next piece goes down more smoothly, as does the next. And then she's eaten only a quarter of her meal before she stops and pushes the plate away.

The servant doesn't question her. He takes up the plate, offers her another smile, and gathers up her tray of food.

Katara lays back as she watches him bow and excuse himself. Nausea kicks back in. She wants to hack up what little she managed to get down her throat, but she is also somewhat nourished for the first time in Spirits know how long and someone has finally shown her something as simple as a smile.

Her heart thrums gently.

Yes, it may not be perfect, but this has to be what relief feels like.

…

She learns that his name is Kuruk. His mother was from the Southern Water Tribe, likely a waterbender taken from her home but he isn't sure, she never showed it, never explained it. She was fond of the Avatar's story, especially fascinated by Avatar Kuruk's love, a love she never had.

All he remembers is losing faith in the Avatar as a child, thinking that such a powerful man could be so reckless, so useless. He hated his name.

Then the Avatar disappeared before he was born, and his mother died waiting for his return regardless. Many lost faith in the Avatar while surrounded by an endless war, while he abandoned them all.

Katara didn't. She held what little hope the world had left in her small palms.

Now she knows so well what faithlessness feels like and now she shares that emotion with someone else. She is guarded still – betrayal is always a possibility in any situation, she understands this well now - but less so.

The feeling of having something in common with anyone anymore is unfamiliar.


End file.
